Chapter 8: Matters Within the Ancient Tomb

It was the height of midsummer, and the weather was sweltering. Yet, when Uncle Wangcai and Uncle Dazhuang’s group entered the ancient tomb, a chilling aura still lingered within.

Uncle Dazhuang carried an engineer’s shovel, its edges honed so sharp that a single strike was as effective as a blade. The rest of the men were similarly armed, and buoyed by the recklessness of their youth, their courage began to swell. The initial area they entered was a grand hall, which, according to Uncle Wangcai, contained only a single spirit tablet inscribed with a name. Because it was written in traditional characters, none of them could recognize it. That tablet eventually vanished; it was likely either discarded by the villagers or sold off. Though ominous, the tablet was an antique in its own right, and there were always collectors who took an interest in such things.

Two stone statues stood in the center of the hall. Initially, they were adorned with vibrant colors, but as the men entered, the pigments rapidly faded. Within minutes, the statues turned a dull, uniform gray. Back then, no one knew the term "oxidation"; they only felt that the gods and ghosts had been offended. Some wanted to retreat, but Uncle Dazhuang refused. In his youth, Dazhuang was not only physically imposing but also fearless; he grabbed the collar of the man who wanted to leave and dragged him deeper inside.

On the right side of the hall stood a partially sealed wall. With their shovels in hand, it took only minutes to breach. They ventured further. Perhaps due to the lack of oxygen, they soon felt dizzy, lightheaded, and nauseated. Uncle Dazhuang, however, seemed unaffected, pushing straight ahead and venturing further and further. Gradually, the others could no longer keep up; some even collapsed. Uncle Wangcai, who was physically fit, followed Dazhuang for a distance but stopped upon discovering a room filled with treasure along a long corridor.

Uncle Dazhuang kept moving, not saying a word. Wangcai wanted to follow, but he caught a fleeting, indistinct glimpse of a dark shadow clinging to Dazhuang’s back. Terrified, he decided to stay put and guard the treasure.

***

The air grew thinner as he delved into the depths of the tomb, heavy with carbon dioxide. Eventually, even Uncle Wangcai could not endure it and lost consciousness. When he awoke, he found himself back in the center of the grand hall. Not only he, but everyone who had fainted in the passageways, had materialized there.

Regaining his senses, Uncle Wangcai looked around. The hall was now filled with hundreds of antiques—the same ones he had seen in the room he had been guarding. Soon, the others began to wake, and upon seeing the treasures, they were overcome with ecstasy. But Uncle Dazhuang was missing. Just as they were preparing to search for him, he reappeared, cradling a golden-nanmu Buddha statue and carrying a brass box the size of a compass.

In the end, the larger artifacts were divided among the men, while the smaller ones were left behind. Uncle Dazhuang took nothing but the Buddha and the box. People in the village later claimed he had cherry-picked the best items, but in truth, those were the only two things he had taken. About half a day later, the rest of the villagers arrived to clear out the tomb. Some tried to venture back in to see if anything else remained, only to discover that the passageways had completely collapsed. Only the grand hall remained standing.

"You know," Uncle Wangcai sighed, "most of those who got their hands on that batch of antiques eventually made their fortunes. Rural folk are hardworking; they sold the antiques for money, opened small restaurants in the city, or bought property. Most of them have settled down in the city now." He gestured toward Dazhuang’s house. "Especially your Uncle Dazhuang—he took on construction projects and became a contractor, making a fortune."

Was that really all there was to it? Or was Uncle Wangcai downplaying the situation, mentioning only trivial details while ignoring something much deeper?

"Uncle Wangcai, I intend to go back and take another look at that ancient tomb," I said. There was definitely something wrong with that place, but since he refused to speak, I was at a dead end. I had once observed the remains of that grand hall from a distance; having been exposed to the elements for so long, it was now in ruins.

"Don't bother. You won't find any valuable clues there," Uncle Wangcai shook his head. "The passageways have collapsed. If it were just a section, maybe, but the whole thing has caved in. It’s buried for good."

"We'll see," I replied, neither agreeing nor arguing. I asked, "Uncle, are all the people who entered the tomb with you still here today?"

"There were ten of us. Aside from me and your late Uncle Dazhuang, only four are here today. Two died in accidents a few years ago, and of the remaining two, one couldn't make it due to personal business, and the other has lost touch." Uncle Dazhuang had never wanted to talk about this, but now everything was being laid bare.

"Uncle Wangcai, take me to see them. I want to check if they have the same symptoms as you," I said after a moment of reflection.

"Alright!" He nodded and led me through the various rooms on the second floor. I wasn't very familiar with the four men; although they were from the village, many hadn't returned since finding success. It was only because of Uncle Dazhuang’s passing that they were gathered together. I studied their faces—their temples were full, their complexions ruddy. For now, they seemed fine. But who knew what the future held? After all, Uncle Dazhuang had been fine too, until the black mist suddenly appeared on his forehead, tormenting him until the end.

"Uncle, go to the largest Taoist temple nearby tomorrow. Find a way to get some incense ash, preferably to mix into water. Soak in it for half an hour every day," I instructed. The incense burned in temples was an offering to the gods, imbued with a certain intent that could dispel the black mist.

"I will go tomorrow," he agreed. A flicker of excitement crossed his face. "Xiao Chen, you know, when your grandfather was the Taoist in this village, he was truly something. Now that you’ve inherited his mantle, you have a bright future!"

In the countryside, almost every village had one or two Taoists who handled feng shui, burial sites, and auspicious dates for weddings and funerals. Most were charlatans or barely competent, but people always liked a bit of good fortune. Sometimes, when a person could have easily completed a task on their own, they sought a divination just to gain extra confidence or comfort.